My body is weird. I don’t particularly like looking at it in the mirror, just because it gives me the creeps. It has these weird bends and bobbles. Faded stretch marks from years of gaining and losing weight, and scars from an operation I had four months back. Not to forget the massive birthmark on my right leg, that, if you squint, sort of looks like a map of the world. I always call it the map of my world.

My stomach, in particular, is a mystery to me. The operation I mentioned was a gastric bypass. Don’t get me wrong, I’m quite happy with the results. As I’m writing, the total of kilos lost is up to 25. But there is something about the shape of my stomach that irks me. It’s bulky on top, very skinny in the middle and slightly less bulky on the bottom. As a result, I look permanently pregnant.

This permanently pregnant stomach of mine has been a nuisance since the dawn of time. I quite vividly remember walking into a shop at eight (I think) years old and being asked if I was pregnant. I was gobsmacked to say the least. On bad days, I keep replaying that very moment in my head. It is joined by the moment that took place on class picture day in sixth grade, when nobody wanted to stand next to me.

I was bullied from the moment I first entered the gates of school. Mainly because I was quite the chubby kid. My self-confidence was, and still is, non-existent.

I always wondered (I still do, by the way) if I had done something to these kids that had offended them. Or was I just that ugly?

Of course, I never had a boyfriend. I am, at twenty-odd years, still single. I jokingly say that the only long-term relationship I’ve ever had was with my television. I may joke and jest about it, but rest assured, this is to protect my feelings.

The gastric bypass might have been a huge turn-around, were it not for the fact that I still feel like a very odd person looking in the mirror. To me, I’m just this weird 20 year old, with her hair dyed red and geek glasses on. Oh, and let us not forget my ever-present pseudo-pregnant pouch.

The weird thing is that I do have parts of my body I like. I like my fingers. Mainly because they have proved to be very useful over the years. I like my eyes. Always get good comments on them. I like my freckles.

But it’s still not much. My self-confidence and my body image is something I’m constantly working on. But it doesn’t seem to be improving. I genuinely don’t know what to do with myself.

I hope that, one day, I’ll be able to look in the mirror and say to myself that I look pretty good. That I’ll stand on those scales and be proud of the number that shows up on the display screen.

But not just yet. I’m not ready.